present him with it.
The June heat was scorching as she directed Blucher to the street with the camera shop. She needed more supplies anyway, so she wasn't really lying. By the time the carriage returned after running her mother's errands, she would have had time to see Daniel and still buy the chemicals. Walking quickly in this heat would have to be the price she paid for her deception.
She had dressed appropriately this time. Her white organdy skirt whispered coolly about her ankles as she hurried down the unpaved street. The matching ruffled parasol kept her protected from the worst rays. Her lace gloves let in every breath of air. The only problem with the whole effect was that it made every man on this side of town turn and stare.
Men on her side of town weren't so rude. Georgina had the urge to stick her tongue out at them, but instinct told her that probably wasn't wise. Sticking her nose up in the air and disregarding the gawkers, she hurried toward Daniel's office.
She could hear the racket of the press running even before she entered the building. All the windows on the second floor were open, and the clackety-clack bounced off the walls and up and down the narrow alley. She closed her parasol, wiped her hands nervously on her skirt, lifted it out of the dust as she stepped inside and started up the stairs.
The door was open, so she walked in. The mattress in the corner now sported a colorful quilt; an old wing chair decorated another corner. Beside the chair was a table with an oil lamp and a collection of books that covered the remaining surface and towered dangerously at several points. Georgina imagined Mr. Martin sitting there in the evenings with his spectacles on, devouring those volumes instead of food. No wonder he was so lean.
The pounding noise of the press was enough to give her a headache even from here. Crossing the room, Georgina peered into the press room with curiosity, hoping to see the newssheets as they rolled off the machine.
Instead, she saw the wide bare shoulders of a half-naked man as he bent over some obscure piece of oily equipment. The sight caught her completely unaware, and she stared. She couldn't remember ever seeing a man's naked back before. Sweat streamed in rivulets down the hollow of his spine to a narrow place just above his trousers. The trousers rode low on narrow hips, leaving a gap where she could see the difference in skin color, tanned on top, much lighter below the belt.
She gulped and flushed, but couldn't look away. His back was tanned and smooth and rippled dangerously as he wrenched at a bolt on the machine. The motion made her follow the line of broad shoulders to the bulge of muscular arms. Was that what men looked like beneath their shirts and cravats and waistcoats?
She must have made some sound or movement to warn him, although how he could hear over the racket of the press was beyond her. Daniel glanced over his shoulder, and she was caught, even as she started to back away. A big grin sprawled across his face as he straightened and turned around.
That left her even more speechless. Now she wasn't looking at his bare back, but his naked chest. How had she ever thought this man on the skinny side? True, his waist was slim and his hips narrow, but that only emphasized the width of the rest of him. She couldn't look at the rest of him. She hadn't realized men had nipples, too.
She covered her eyes with her hand. "A shirt, please, Mr. Martin."
Even over the bumps and thumps she could hear his chuckle. She wanted to melt right through the floor and die. Her cheeks were even hotter than the air in this stifling room, and there was a nervous twinge in her middle that made the imps that had danced there earlier seem innocent. Stiffly, she walked into the outer room, trusting he was finding some decent clothing.
Even though she kept her eyes closed, she knew when he entered the room. She could smell him. Strangely enough, it wasn't an unpleasant odor. It stirred her senses in ways they had never been disturbed before. Georgina scowled and grabbed the paper he was rattling in front of her.
Opening her eyes, she read the banner headline: SLAVERY STILL EXISTS! The subheads were sensationalism at its best, indicting Mulloney's without benefit